


Karaoke Night

by a_nonny_moose



Series: My AU [46]
Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 12:11:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12254136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Things are about to get ridiculous.





	Karaoke Night

No one else was in favor of karaoke night, least of all Dark. 

“C’mon, Dark, it’ll be _fun_.” Wilford winked at him, twirling a candy cane between his fingers.   


“It will be _loud_  and _unnecessary_ ,” Dark scowled, crossing his arms behind his back. “Absolutely not.”  


“I didn’t come to ask for your _permission_ , high-and-mighty Darkipoo.” Wilford turned to leave, smirking over his shoulder. “Only if you’d _join_  us.”

A snarl and clap of black smoke, but Wilford was already gone. 

* * *

It was Wilford and Bim’s idea. Everything that goes wrong around here is Wilford and Bim’s idea, Mark thought, rolling his eyes. The two of them had invited Amy and Kathryn (”And a plus-one, if they’d like,”) to a ‘show’ at the office. After a little wheedling and a lot of prodding, Mark and Tyler agreed to go. 

Ethan was busy, he said. A project, he said. 

Tyler held open the front door as the others filed in, the living room dimly lit in shades of pink and blue. As Tyler closed the door behind him, the others blinked in the light to find-- 

“Ethan?!”

“The one and only,” he laughed, ushering them in.   


Mark groaned. “Not you too.”

He was dressed for the occasion in what could’ve passed for formal wear: blue shirt, gray pants and suspenders. The only thing that gave him away as Wilford and Bim’s co-conspirators was the sparkly, glittery bow tie around his neck.

Tyler snorted, pointing at it as they went to sit in front of a makeshift stage (why they didn’t just use the studio was beyond him). “Flashy much?”

“Hey,” Ethan protested, straightening it, “it’s _fashion_ , Tyler, you wouldn’t understand.”  


“Right.” 

Ethan looked like he had a comeback, but there came a noise from the hall: a crashing and banging not unlike someone tripping over their feet and landing face-first in a pile of sound equipment. With an annoyed scoff and the flash of his bow tie in the hallway light, he was gone. From outside came muffled apologies and the clang of shifting microphones.   


Mark hung his head a little. “This is going to be ridiculous,” he whispered to himself, trying to hide a smile. 

Tyler nudged him. “Hey, at least it’ll be entertaining.”

“Or murderous,” Kathryn interjected. “Don’t forget murder. This _is_  Wilford we’re talking about, isn’t it?” On the other side of Mark, Amy hid a giggle behind her hand.   


“Murder _would_  be entertaining,” Tyler started, looking across at her, but Mark shushed them.   


There was a scuffle at the door again, and what seemed to be a pile of boxes with legs staggered through, followed by Google_G and Ethan, who was positively beaming. 

Google_G nodded his head in greeting, guiding the boxes onto the stage. Bim poked his head up, flushed, but with a nervous kind of excitement. He gave them all a little wave before turning to the nest of wires before him. Google_G walked over to the soundboard in the corner, seating himself at the computer and snapping his headphones on with a flash of his eyes. 

“Crisis averted,” Ethan chirped, seating himself next to Kathryn. The sparkle from his bow tie lit his face in a shining kalidescope, and Tyler didn’t bother to hide his chuckling.  


“I think it’s a _statement_ ,” Amy said, teasing him. “Very futuristic.”  


“It’s a _hideous_  statement.”  


“I think Tyler’s just jealous,” Kathryn stage-whispered to Amy, and they dissolved in a fit of giggles. Tyler looked over at Mark, meeting his eye. This was about to be ridiculous.   


The sound of a trumpet-- Mark cringed-- and Wilford paraded in with Google_B, _R, and a reluctant Dr. Iplier in tow. A departure from his usual pink, Wilford wore a dark cloak around his shoulders, looking for all the world like the herald of death itself. “Welcome, ladies, gentlemen, androids--” he inclined his head towards the three Googles swarming around the computers, “--and all other configurations of being, to karaoke night!”

Mark’s groan was audible over the others’ enthusiastic smattering of applause. 

Wilford took to the stage and mic as Bim and the Doctor found seats by the others: Dr. Iplier by Mark, shaking his head in solidarity; Bim by Ethan, the two of them practically vibrating in excitement that was more nervous on Bim’s part, more genuine on Ethan’s. 

“Tonight,” Wilford boomed, black under the bright lights, and Google_G winced and lowered the volume, “we invite on stage anyone who _dares_  to take on the challenge--” he whipped his coat off, dramatic, and Google_R caught it without even looking up, “of _song_.”  


Wilford stood on stage in an outfit that would befit a disco ball. If Ethan’s bow tie was glittery, Wilford was an explosion of sparkles. A pink, rhinestone-encrusted suit, a bow tie that matched Ethan’s, his mustache and aura seeming to glow in the spotlight.

Mark groaned, if anything, even more loudly. 

“Do we have any volunteeeeeeers?” Wilford dragged out the word, rolling his ‘r’s, peering at them all in mock interest.   


Bim shyly raised his hand, Ethan glancing over at him, but before he could say anything--

“I suppose _little ol’ me_  will have to go first!” Wilford gestured enthusiastically to the Googles around the soundboard. Google_B, fighting to keep a straight face, pointed to something on Google_G’s computer screen. 

Wilford pulled the microphone from its stand as the [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X2WH8mHJnhM) started to play. At his feet, an awkwardly-placed screen began scrolling through lyrics.

“Every night in my dreams,” Wilford sang, a hand over his heart, “I see you... I FEEEEEL YOU!”

Google_B looked pointedly at Google_G, and the music cut out. 

“That is how I knoooow-- hey, what gives?” Wilford paused, tapping the microphone expectantly.   


Bim’s snort was the only noise in the room, and Wilford glared at him past the stage lights. 

“Let him finish,” Amy yelled, heckling the Googles. After a nudge, Kathryn, then Ethan joined in. Wilford, bright-eyed on the stage, looked hopefully at Google_B. 

The whirr of three sets of rolling eyes, the tap of a keyboard, and the music started again. Wilford launched into song.

“Far across the distance...”  


Dr. Iplier and Mark glanced at each other, fingers stuffed in their ears, and Tyler laughed. 

“ _I’m_ not _that_  bad,” Mark muttered to no one, voice lost under Wilford’s high notes.   


“..You are safe in my heart, and my heart will go on and on,” Wilford finished, jumping octaves. 

Amy stood to cut him off, clapping, and Ethan jumped up beside her. “Woo! Go Wilford, you’re killing it!”

“Kill what?”  


From down the hall, they could hear the Host’s door bang open. “For once, the Host wishes he were deaf and not blind,” came a scoff, followed by footsteps. After a moment, he poked his head into the room. “The Host requests that the karaoke party remains _quiet_ , please,” he said, mouth twisted into a sneer. “At least, relatively.”

“Sorry, Hosty,” Bim started, giggling, but Wilford caught his breath in time to interrupt.   


“Host! Sing with us!” Wilford jumped off stage to scurry towards the Host, reaching for his hand.   


“The Host would rather not,” came the curt reply, and the Host slammed the door shut before Wilford could get to him.   


Wilford pouted. “Party pooper.” The three Googles exchanged a glance. 

In the ‘audience,’ Amy was whispering determinedly to Kathryn, who rolled her eyes playfully. “Fine,” she muttered, standing. 

Amy clapped her hands, hurrying up to the Googles’ table. After a moment of quick discussion, they handed her the microphone.

“Okay,” Amy grinned, all rosy cheeks under the lights. “Kathryn and I want to sing a song, but you have to promise not to laugh.”  


Mark gave her a single loud “Ha!” of laughter, and Kathryn narrowed her eyes at him. “Hush!”

Wilford huffed from the door, folding and unfolding his arms. “Look at the nerve of these two, stealing my spotlight.” His voice gruff, teasing. “Go ahead, ladies.”

Kathryn laughed a little, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Okay, Googs,” she said, nodding at them. 

Google_G clicked rapidly, and the [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSBPN0zST-o) started to play. 

Amy leaned into the mic, lowering her eyes. “I come home, in the morning light, and my mother says, ‘when you gonna live your life right?’”

Kathryn pushed her gently over, taking the mic off of its stand. “Oh, mother, dear, we’re not the fortunate ones--”

Amy jumped in, giggling, to form a harmony. “--and girls, just want to have fun! Oh, girls just wanna have fun!”

Google_B pressed a few buttons, and the lights above them changed from Wilford’s glowing pink to flashing sunset colors as the music kicked up. 

By now, the boys were all on their feet, singing along. Mark and Bim pulled out their phones, lighted, to wave above their heads, and Ethan pulled Tyler into some kind of waltz around the living room. The Doctor laughed until Ethan pulled him to his feet as well, dancing in the dim light. Wilford scowled good-naturedly at them all, tapping his feet to the music. The Googles, safe behind the soundboard and noise-canceling headphones, exchanged another meaningful glance. 

As the song finished, Amy and Kathryn fell over themselves in mock bows, laughing, and the others cheered. Even Wilford and the Googles found themselves clapping as the girls stumbled off stage, resuming their seats and poking fun at each other. 

“That was ridiculous,” Kathryn jabbed, grinning.  


Amy laughed, glancing past her. “We should start a band.”

Mark mock glared at them, shaking his head, unable to hide a smile. “Shut up.”

“Okay, okay, alright,” Wilford shouted over them all, taking over the mic, glitter now staining his hands. “Who’s next?”  


Bim started to raise his hand again, but paused as Google_B stood up. 

“We would like to sing something,” he said, a bit shyly, “but I will have to go get Oliver.” With that, he put his headphones on the table and walked out, stiff, closing the door behind him.   


A moment of silence, the room staring at Google_R and _G, before Wilford spoke again. “O-o-okay, anyone else, while we wait?” He wiggled his mustache in an effort to break the awkwardness. 

Ethan scrambled to his feet. “I’ll go! Do you have a...” He ran up to Google_R, talking quickly under his breath. 

After a second, Google_R’s face lit up with a smile, and he nodded. “I will be right back.” He put his headphones next to Google_B’s and hurried out, the gears practically visible, turning in his head. 

Ethan turned to face the rest of them, a wide grin on his face. “This’ll be awesome, promise.”

Silence, only Wilford’s shuffling. A bittersweet, awkward silence, and Ethan looked around to see every one of his friends breathing in the moment. They were all together, a little out of breath from dancing, a little giddy with happiness. It was a special kind of contentment.

A shuffling came from the hallway, and Google_R hurried back in with something in his arms. He handed it to Ethan with the excited buzzing of fans, and went to snap his headphones back over his ears. 

Ethan shooed Wilford off stage, taking his place by the mic, ukulele in hand. “Ready?”

Tyler, from the couch, called, “No, but go anyway!”

Ethan shook his head, snickering, and started to [play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4Ps5hA7TXM). “Yo, listen up here’s a story about a little guy that lives in a blue world--”

Mark dropped his head into his hands, and Tyler whistled, starting to laugh. Dr. Iplier and Kathryn patted Mark on the back, equally annoyed. Amy nudged Tyler, taking her phone out to record Ethan singing. 

As the chorus hit, Google_G hit a button, and the lights changed to a wash of blue. Amy and Tyler jumped up to sing along as the others sat back, shaking their heads. 

“I’m blue, da ba dee da ba die, da ba dee da ba die!”  


Google_B walked in, dragging Oliver, his fingers stuffed in his ears, eyes shut tight. As Wilford turned to him, Google_B pointed to himself, then the blue lights. “Me?” he mouthed. 

Wilford snorted, shaking his head. Google_B looked between them one more time, then shrugged, herding Oliver closer to the soundboard. As they got closer to the speaker, Oliver’s fans started to buzz violently in his chest, and he took a step away from Google_B. “I-- I am unable--”

Google_B squeezed his arm reassuringly, handing him headphones. Oliver slipped them over his ears as Ethan reached the last chorus of the song, the others-- even Mark and Kathryn-- almost shouting the lyrics. 

“--da ba dee, da ba die, da ba dee da ba die!”  


Wilford joined the others in applause as Ethan took a bow, face flushed. 

“And, for my next [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N7QXFh0JAFM),” Ethan laughed, leaning into the mic, strumming a few chords. “Some--”

“--BODY!” yelled the rest of the room, but Wilford had already wrested the microphone away from Ethan.   


“Right,” Wilford huffed, shoving a madly giggling Ethan off stage, shouting over the others. “Who’s next?” He brushed a shower of pink glitter off of him.   


“May we?” Google_G stood, taking his headphones off. Google_B strode over to Wilford, still blustering on stage, and took the microphone away from him.   


“Right,” Google_B said, as Google_G and _R walked up to join him. “We would like to sing--” He stopped, looking back. “Oliver?”  


Oliver was seated at the soundboard, headphones clutched over his ears, quietly glaring at them all.

“Oliver?” Google_B flashed his eyes, catching Oliver’s attention.  


Oliver straightened up, beeping, and removed the headphones. 

“Come sing,” Google_G motioned gently, a quiet whirr in the silence.   


“It is loud,” Oliver muttered, but he stood anyway and hopped onto the stage. He took his place on the far side of Google_B, squinting a little.   


Wilford, arms folded offstage, could practically feel Oliver’s nervousness. The bright lights and surround sound of the speakers could be overwhelming at the best of times, and Oliver had always been just a little more finely tuned than the rest of the Googles. Wilford took a breath. 

“Woo! Go Ollie!” Bim jumped up from the sofa, cheering gently, waving at him as if he were on a much larger stage than a cleared space in their living room.   


“Yeah, Oliver!” Ethan hopped up next to him, grinning. “You can do it!”  


After a second, Amy pulled Dr. Iplier up with her, practically bouncing. “Go Ollie!”

As the office erupted into soft cheers, all waves and smiles, Oliver blinked a little in the light. Google_B reached out to touch his arm, a silent question. 

With the light vrr of moving fans, Oliver breathed and nodded, face splitting into a smile. 

Google_G looked over from the end of the line, waiting. “Ready?” he said, catching Google_B’s eye. “five, six, seven, eight--”

Before Wilford could wonder where the music was, the four of them started to [sing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CMXrbP3Q0D8). 

“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy--”  


Oliver closed his eyes as he hummed, a gentle sort of smile spreading across his face. Wilford huffed into his mustache, scrunching his lips so no one could tell that he was smiling. Music-- performing-- was an incredible thing, even for these dumb hunks of metal. 

By the end of the song, everyone was on their feet again, swaying to the Googles’ harmony. Bim, on one end of the line, gestured to Wilford to join them. “Come _on_ ,” he mouthed, a smile giddy with content. 

Wilford harrumphed, twiddling his fingers, but shuffled over to join them. Bim looped his arm around Wilford’s shoulders, friendly, forcing him to move back and forth with the rest of them. Warm, almost comforting, against the scratchy glitter of his suit. 

Oliver stepped forward. “Nothing really matters, anyone can see,” he sang, taking the lead for the first time in the song. “Nothing really matters, nothing really matters... to me.” And the look on his face said anything but. 

“Any way the wind blows,” the other Googles sang behind him, harmonizing. Oliver stepped back, face suddenly flushed, and finished the song with a blush creeping up his neck.   


Wilford was the first, surprisingly enough, to start clapping, teeth glinting in the low light. Tyler, then Mark followed, snickering, whispering, “See, I _told_ you I wasn’t that bad.” An elbow to the ribs, and Kathryn bounced up, pulling the Doctor with her. Ethan, then Amy, and then Bim followed suit, applause filling the room as the Googles stood stiffly, fans beginning to buzz in overdrive.

After a moment, they bowed in stiff unison, whirring at the hip. 

Oliver started to walk off stage, towards the hallway and back to his room, but Google_G stopped him at the soundboard. “Stay,” he prompted, beeping gently.

“I--” Oliver looked back, at the others in the audience, at the bright, flashing lights, at the speakers beginning to thump again. “I do not--”  


Google_B wordlessly handed him a pair of headphones and gestured to the couches. Oliver took them, hesitant.

“Oliver!” Bim waved from his seat, patting the empty cushion next to him.   


With a nod to the other Googles, Oliver snapped the headphones over his ears and went to sit by Bim, mustering a shy smile. “Thank you,” he mouthed, looking around the dimmed room, at the humans and figments surrounding him. 

Wilford was back on stage, a death grip on the microphone, glitter sparkling on his face. “Any takers?” he boomed, squinting around at them. “Doc! Doc, get up here!”

A spotlight swung across them to the Doctor, sitting besides Mark. Dr. Iplier, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, scoffed. “No, thank you, Will,” he said, sardonic. “I’d rather not.”

“But--” Wilford started, about to argue.  


Dr. Iplier raised an eyebrow, glaring, and Wilford found it better not to argue. The spotlight swung over a foot, and Mark squinted in the light. 

“Mark! The _one and only_ Markiplier!” Wilford grinned behind his mustache, wiggling his eyebrows: the perfect, obnoxious game show host, Mark thought.   


Mark crossed his arms, imitating the Doctor. “Nuh-uh. No way.”

“Come _on_ ,” Wilford teased, making sure that every eye was on him. “Just a little song?”  


“I don’t even have my guitar,” Mark started to protest, but Google_R held up a familiar instrument from the shadows offstage.   


Wilford looked between Google_R and Mark, a triumphant smile on his face. 

Mark grumbled. “...fine.” Amy gave him a teasing push, and he stumbled on stage, blinking a little in the light. 

Wilford handed him the guitar and hopped off, making for the soundboard. Google_G, headphones in place, waved him away. 

“It’s not going to be perfect,” Mark started, slipping the shoulder strap over his head. “In fact, it might even be _bad_ \--”  


“Just play!” Tyler called from the couch, grinning.   


Mark mock scowled in his direction before looking down at the guitar, taking a deep breath. How did this song start? Where did his fingers even go? What was a chord?

Another whoop from the audience, and Mark looked up to see Wilford shining, smiling smugly at him from the doorway. A blink, and Dark was next to him, smoke swirling, smirking. 

Another deep breath, and he started to [play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvn2MPx_slA). 

“One, two, three, four.”  


Mark’s eyes were fixed on his fingers, dully aware that the audience-- his friends, his Egos-- were watching him. 

“Oh, woah, oh oh oh.” Somewhere, on a couch, someone whooped.   


“Play the lotto, you might win it, its like twenty-five to life so you bust out of prison, something’s in the air, something’s in the air.”  


A breath, and the music was like magic in his fingers. 

By the door, Wilford and Dark were now scowling. A distant part of Mark thought that their auras could never match this. 

“Something big, I feel it happening, out of my control. Pushing, pulling, and it’s grabbing me, I feel it in my bones like--”  


“Woah oh oh oh, woah oh oh oh oh oh oh!” The room burst into song again, and Google_G quietly lowered the speakers. Dr. Iplier and Oliver looked over at each other in silent amusement as the others stomped their feet and cheered. Ridiculous.  


“He’s good,” Wilford muttered to Dark, out of the corner of his mouth.   


Dark snorted, his aura recoiling from the violent sparkle of Wilford’s suit. “’Good’ is one word for it.” He straightened his suit, a quick, jerking movement, and tilted his head. “He’s not bad.” 

It was Wilford’s turn to snort, disbelieving. “It’s not as if _you_ could do any better.”

A scoff. “Is that a challenge?”  


“Of _course_ not. After all, you _did_  say you weren’t going to join us, Darkipoo.” Baiting.

Mark strummed the last chords of the song. “Something big, I feel it happening.” 

A beat, and he gasped for breath, heart pounding in his ears. Adrenaline like ice in his veins. The room was cheering again, and Mark felt every ounce of tension leave his shoulders. This was it, the place he was supposed to be, and it was somehow both terrifying and comforting. 

A few lazy claps rang out over the others, echoing, silencing them. Kathryn saw him first, next to Wilford, leaning against the doorway. “Dark.”

“Wonderful,” Dark purred, stepping closer. The room paused in pin-drop silence, watching, staring, glaring. 

Dr. Iplier got to his feet. “What do you want?”  


“ _Want_? Me? My dear Doctor,” Dark chuckled, stepping under the lights, next to Mark, “whatever could I _want_?”  


“Me,” Mark snapped, setting the guitar down. Every line of his body was stiff, screaming with controlled fury. “Now isn’t the time, Dark.”  


“So self-centered, are we?” Dark let a smirk touch his lips, glancing around the room. It was if a chill had descended on them all. “ _Ego_ tistical, some might say.”  


Mark’s defenses went up. “Get out.”

“No, no.” Dark smiled, all teeth under the lights. “I’m here to _join_  you, wouldn’t you like that?”  


“I--” Mark glanced out towards the others, caught off guard, and Dark took his opportunity.   


“Go sit,” Dark said, his aura snapping at Mark’s heels. A sneer. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? _Bonding_?”  


Mark narrowed his eyes, and the room held their breath. Dark had _something_  up his sleeve, and they all knew it-- but even the Googles would respect Mark’s judgement when it came to letting him stay. 

“Fine.” Mark nodded, wary, and stepped aside. His footsteps loud in the silence, he picked his way over to the couch and sat, tangling his fingers with Amy’s.   


Dark smiled broadly as a murmur rose, then died. Google_R walked over to him to have a fierce, whispered conversation, ending with Dark snarling, “Don’t argue,” and his aura lunging forward. 

“What a big bully,” Kathryn muttered, arms folded, unimpressed. Amy and Dark both shot her a look: questioning, angry, respectively.   


The [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3y8X1_IJXk) started, and every person in the room, even Wilford, stiffened in surprise. 

“I found her,” Dark started, leaning seductively, almost obscenely, over the mic, “among the aliens.”  


In the dim light of the living room, Ethan and Bim turned open-mouthed to look at Amy. Amy sat looking straight forward, features composed, fingers limp in Mark’s. Mark, on the other hand, was clutching her hand so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. 

“She stepped out of a UFO,” Dark was looking straight at Amy, brows drawn low, a hand pressed against his chest, “and abducted my heart.”  


Bim could see Mark’s shoulders beginning to shake. The Googles, at the soundboard, looked at each other in concern, looked at the way Dark’s aura had wrapped itself around the controls. Dr. Iplier was stiff, arms crossed, Tyler beside him, looking fit to burst. Bim looked at Ethan, who shook his head, lips drawn into a line. Kathryn, next to him, was looking over at Amy with a kind of fierce pride. He heard Wilford shift uncomfortably behind them. No one said anything in the building tension, watching Dark’s aura swirl in time to the song. 

And still Amy sat, chin raised, listening. 

“She’s _so_  important to me,” Dark sang, smirking, winking, and a physical shudder ran through the room. Mark started to stand, but stopped at the pressure of Amy’s, then Tyler’s hands over his.   


“I found her among the aliens, we stepped out of the UFO...” Dark paused, watching hooks of smoke reach for Amy, who sat, impassive. He stooped into the mic. “And she still has... my heart.”  


The music cut out, and there was a vibrating kind of silence, as if someone had clashed cymbals together and never really stopped them. It was the kind of silence that waited for the next drum to break it. 

Amy stood, a rush of movement, and even Kathryn looked uncertain. 

She clapped. Amy stood and clapped, perfectly composed, staring Darkiplier in the eye, surrounded by his aura and ringing silence. 

No one else moved.

Dark sneered, smiling, under the lights, sweeping his hair out of his eyes. “Did you like that?” he growled, taking a fraction of a step closer, eyebrows dancing. His aura flared around him, the tail feathers of some gothic, perverted peacock. 

“Yes,” Amy said, simply, lowering her hands. “I did. Thank you, Dark.”  


Dark hesitated, eyes widening, confusion chasing away wisps of his aura, and that was all it took.

Kathryn allowed herself a short, almost cruel laugh, and got to her feet, clapping. “Good job, Darkipoo,” she said, only the barest trace of mockery in her voice. 

Dark bared his teeth, turning to go, but Google_B brought a spotlight to life over him, and he froze in the light. 

After a moment, Dr. Iplier, then Tyler stood up to join Kathryn and Amy. “You really did it, Dark,” Tyler muttered, glaring at him over the applause. 

Bim jumped to his feet, clapping enthusiastically, followed by Ethan. Wilford stepped forward, slowly bringing his hands together, looking at Dark with a kind of cruel satisfaction. 

Finally, Mark sighed, standing, and joined the applause, staring daggers at Dark.

Dark looked around at them all, hard, brittle glares directed at him, even from the Googles. Applause, mocking. Amy, front and center, her hands by her sides. _Thank you, Dark,_  echoed in his ears. 

With a snarl and a swirl of black smoke, Dark was gone.

Mark glared at the now-empty stage. “Dark ruins everything.” Amy squeezed his hand in reassurance. 

“Dark’s a _drama queen_ ,” Tyler scoffed, sitting, folding his arms. “He just wants to get on your nerves.”  


“He’s succeeding,” Mark scowled, lost in thought.   


Kathryn half-successfully suppressed a laugh. “Dark’s not the _only_ drama queen,” she teased, and Amy shot a grin at her. 

“Yeah,” Amy said, needling, poking at Mark’s arm. “At least _Dark_ doesn’t have an ego so big it manifests into nine different versions of himself.”  


“You guys think you’re funny.” Mark shook his head, the tension slipping from his shoulders, a grin pulling at his mouth.   


“Oh, no,” Kathryn raised an eyebrow at him. “We _know_  we’re funny.”   


Amid Amy’s laughter, and Mark’s resigned chuckles, and the sound of everyone settling into chairs once more, Wilford shuffled back on stage. He angrily brushed glitter from his hands-- somehow, it had gotten absolutely _everywhere_ \-- and grabbed the microphone. The Googles, whispering urgently to each other, paused to look as Wilford tapped the mic to get everyone’s attention. 

“Right,” Wilford started, lacking a little of his usual bravado, “would anyone _else_  like... to...”

Google_R swung the spotlight over to Tyler, who blinked and scowled. “No.”

Bim watched, hiding his giggling behind his hand, as Wilford tried to persuade him. That was stone-faced Tyler, all right, as immovable as a rock. After a moment, the impulse that had been crashing over Bim in waves of purple hit him in a tsunami of force. The spotlight was on Tyler, still protesting, but this... this was Bim’s time to shine. Right?

Slowly, hesitantly, he raised his hand. 

Ethan, sitting beside him, noticed again. “Hey, Will!” Ethan shouted over the arguing, Tyler impassive, Wilford red-faced. The spotlight swung over to rest in Ethan’s eyes. 

“Do you want to go again, Blue Boy?” Wilford tapped his fingers restlessly on the microphone stand. “Well, I suppose--”  


“Not me,” Ethan said, gesturing. “Bim wants to sing!”  


Google_R slowly moved the spotlight over to Bim, shrinking in his seat. Oh, no, now everyone was looking at him. 

“Would you like to sing?” Wilford’s voice was almost mocking, too loud, the lights too bright. Suddenly, Bim understood Oliver a little better. 

He swallowed, hands shaking. “Yeah, I--I would.”

“Well,” Wilford boomed, “get up here!”  


Bim stood, thinking his legs would turn to jelly, but they didn’t. They were almost mechanical, moving him forward.

He stepped onto stage, and it hit him. Somewhere in the shadows by the soundboard, Google_B smirked and nudged Google_G’s shoulder in amusement. 

It was liquid confidence, the color of flashing lights and the recklessness of jumping without looking. It was ice-cold water being poured over his head, the feeling of snapping to attention and the chill of a knife against his neck. It was jumping into a bottomless pit, the tug of his heart filling up his throat and the world at his fingertips, alive, dancing like electricity across his skin. 

A purple ocean at his feet. 

Suddenly, Bim was ready for anything.

Wilford scrunched his face, seeing Bim’s eyes light up in mischief. This, whatever it was, would be ridiculous. Wilford nodded, stepping off stage, eyes narrowed. 

Bim rubbed his hands together in excitement, aware that with every step he was kicking up water, a grape-colored fog starting to wrap itself around him. He walked over to the three Googles, arms folded in the shadows. A second of whispering, and Google_R’s eyes flashed an inspired red. They nodded in unison, a short, sharp whirr, as excited for chaos as Bim was. The new stiffness to his spine was not, by any means, lost on them, nor the purple glint to his eyes.

Bim took his place on stage, under the spotlight, where he was meant to be. 

A nod to the Googles; and the lights turned a tasteful lavender, and the [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=onpqY2efDSM) began to play. 

“The situation turns around, enough to figure out...” he hummed, a deep baritone. His aura paused for a beat, frothing, and surged forward to lap at the feet of his audience. 

A purple glow lit the room, and Wilford was the first to figure it out. Before he could do much more than widen his eyes in surprise, shoulders stiffening, Bim’s aura had already soaked into him.   


Bim looked straight at Wilford, knowing that he’d be the first to realize. “...that someone else has let you down...” A wink, moonlight glinting from the surface of a pond, and Wilford was pulled under. 

“...so many times, I don’t know why,” Bim moved with a liquid, silver grace, head bowed over the microphone, the purple lights above casting aubergine shadows over his face.   


Wilford found himself stepping forward, sinking into the front row of chairs, as close to Bim as he could be. The spotlight seemed to sparkle on his skin, and as Bim took the microphone off of its stand, Wilford felt his breath hitch in his throat. Bim, his best friend, his partner. A prince in royal velvet. 

“But I know, we can make it,” Bim stepped forward, into the audience, and the spotlights seemed to follow him. “As long as you say it...” He stopped next to Wilford, impossibly close.  


Wilford held his breath, Bim’s hips tilting inches from his face.

Bim leaned forward, past Wilford, to Ethan, who sat stiff and wide-eyed in his chair. 

“So tell me that you love me,” Bim purred, a wave cresting. Ethan turned an impressive shade of pink-- pink enough to rival Wilford.   


Bim pulled away, and Wilford was almost too distracted by the fit of Bim’s pants to process the red-hot burst of jealousy through his gut.

Almost.

Bim moved past him, to Kathryn, a smile tugging at his lips, the smell of lavender, sweet, washing along behind him. Wilford’s head spun, and Ethan took a shuddering, blushing breath. 

“Tell me that I take your breath away...” Bim serenaded, eyes lowered, hair disheveled, his aura flowing behind him with the force of a rushing river.   


Kathryn, arms folded across her chest, looked across at Oliver, then raised a skeptical eyebrow, slowly shaking her head. Bim paused for all of a second, a stream redirected, and gave her and Oliver a tiny, genuine smile before pressing past her. 

“And maybe, if you take one more,” Bim let his fingers trail over the side of Amy’s arm, closing in on the curve of her wrist. “Then I would know for sure...” A rush of foaming waves, and Bim’s hand closed on her’s. “...there’s nothing left to say.”  


In one movement, Bim pulled Amy up, a whirlpool forming around their feet. Amy giggled a little, dizzy, swept quite literally off her feet. Bim laughed, husky, in her ear. “So tell me that you love me, anyway.” He spun her, quick, and it was the feeling of drowning in honey.

Amy sat down with mussed hair and red cheeks, all sparkling eyes and shaking hands. Bim was a hurricane of sorts, a flurry of gentlemanly kisses and roaring tides. He was the heat of stage lights and a wave of adrenaline, the moment before the leap. 

Bim smiled, smooth, like a ripple lapping at her heels, like the cloying sweetness of azalea. A beat, and his fingertips brushed hers, warm and soft, moving away with a wave of mist. 

“Tell me that you love me anyway,” Bim held the microphone close to his lips, watching Mark avoid his eye. A hand at his jaw, and Mark looked up to see Bim over him, glasses lowered. Mark reached up to his face, to the curve of Bim’s neck, but in an instant, he’d moved on; and Mark was left with a desperate loss pooling in his stomach. 

Tyler, on the other side of Mark, was sitting back in his seat with a kind of shaky nervousness, as far away from Bim as he could be. As Bim extended an open palm to him, Tyler shrunk into the cushions, shaking his head. This was a kind of cursive, looping nervousness in his chest, uncomfortable bubbles and currents against jagged rocks. Tyler was placing every movement with care as Bim hurtled along, passing over him with a grin gentle as drizzling rain. 

Dr. Iplier jumped to his feet at the end of the row, heart in his throat. The humans in the room weren’t as powerfully affected, the whirlpool of Bim’s aura more like the pull of a hand than being caught by the wrist mid-fall. For the Doctor, it was jumping off a cliff hand in hand.

Bim had one hand on the mic, his other arm snaking its way around Dr. Iplier’s waist. A slow dance, like a river around a rock, Bim still crooning, the spotlight still following them, a lilac vortex. A spin, a swirl, a splash: Bim dipped the Doctor, deep in his arms. It was drowning in drizzle, stirring in sapphire.

Bim was fantastically aware that every eye, especially Wilfords’, were on him. In this, the eye of his own heliotrope hurricane, he was the lightning dancing across his own spine. 

“Show me, look what we found, turn it around every day,” Bim sang, whirling the Doctor in a circle, sending him staggering back to his seat. Ignoring, pointedly, Wilford’s balled fists and hungry eye. The microphone was light in his hand, and everything seemed washed in magenta. A purple spark, flying around him.  


Bim walked past them all again, a torrent of motion, delicate brushing skin against Tyler’s arm, then Mark’s chin, Amy’s palm. An incline of his head at Kathryn and Oliver, smirking madly-- and then Wilford was nose-to-nose with him, eyes wide. 

“I can hear what you say,” Bim hummed, breathy, free hand clasping at Wilford’s jaw. “Now I know why,” Bim leaned in, microphone nearly forgotten as they brushed cheeks, “I know we can make it.”

Bim stopped just short of a kiss, glancing up into Wilford’s eyes, hazy with aubergine fog. “If you tell me that you love me,” he whispered, watching Wilford struggle for air, “and tell me that I take your breath away...” A pause, and Bim leaned in for a light brush of his lips against Wilford’s open mouth. “And maybe if you take... one... more...”

Wilford grasped at straws, trying to find his voice, and Bim broke away.

Bim slid back on stage, under the brighter lights, and it became very apparent that the purple glow splashing at his feet wasn’t a trick of the Googles’ spotlights. He slid the microphone back into its stand, all deft fingers and liquid charm. 

“But tell me that you love me... anyway.”   


A beat, and the lavender finally faded, leaving the barest trace of sweetness in the air. 

The humans stood quickly, still hazy, clapping. Kathryn shot a glance at Wilford as she stood-- he was blinking slowly, still standing where Bim had left him. A bewildered, almost angry expression began to color his face, and Kathryn nudged at Amy’s elbow, pointing. This was about to be ridiculous. 

The Googles looked to the Doctor first: realization dawning on him, face going red. A shuffle, and he sat back down, burying his head in his hands.

Wilford, on the other hand, was approximately the same color as Bim’s aura.

“TRIMMER.”

Bim stopped his bows, the last wave of confidence leaving him stranded, an island of twitching fingers, a victim of hubris. His face went from gleaming confidence to nagging fear in an instant. “Wilford, I--”

Wilford was already rolling up his sleeves, and Bim decided it was better to cut his losses. 

“Okay-thank-you-bye!” Bim sprinted out of the room before the rest of them could come to their senses, Wilford barreling behind him like a runaway train.   


Amid the Googles’ laughter and the _vrr_  of overheated fans, the rest of the humans shook themselves awake. 

Mark dropped into his chair, head in his hands. “Why do they all have to be such _idiots_?!” he groaned, frustrated.

“They are  _your_ Egos,” Kathryn laughed, ignoring the mocking glare Mark shot at her.  


Amy and Ethan were doubled over in a fit of giggles, blushing and drunk on the ridiculousness of it all. “I.. hate them,” Ethan gasped, hiding his face. 

Tyler was staring open-mouthed at Kathryn, brain buffering. “You _knew_?”

Kathryn hid a laugh behind her hand. “It happens a lot around here, to be fair.”

“ _What_?!”  


Dr. Iplier cut them off with a resigned sigh. “Bim thinks he’s funny,” he said, rubbing at his temples. “Being an incubus, he... well, I guess you’ve seen what he can do.”

“That was quite the dance, Doc,” Kathryn teased, ignoring Tyler’s stuttering.   


The Doctor scowled good-naturedly at her, shaking his head. “He’s a piece of work, that’s for sure.”

Kathryn leaned over to take the Doctor’s wrist, frowning. “I’m sorry, Doc,” she said after a moment, smirking. “You’re in love.”

Dr. Iplier rolled his eyes, pulling away. “Very funny.”

Mark groaned again, hands fisted in his hair, still unmoving. “ _Why_?!”

Amy laughed, putting a hand on his shoulder. She didn’t have an explanation, but offered the comfort of a familiar hand and a love unaffected by playful incubi. 

Tyler sat back in his seat, still thinking, brow furrowed as the others caught their breath, slowed their pounding hearts. Some love, he figured, was more real than others.

As Tyler sat, looking at them all, a tiny voice sounded in the back of his head. An idea, more like a suggestion. An impulse that told him to cooperate. 

He stood, brushing off his pants, stiff. “Google,” he said, speaking over the others, quieting them. “I want to sing something, if that’s okay.”

Google_R looked over at Google_G, squinting at his computer screen, but Google_B answered first. “Yes, of course,” he said, almost automatic.

Tyler shuffled up to the microphone, expectant, and Google_B leaned over Google_G’s shoulder to hit a few keys on the keyboard. The others looked on, confused, waiting. 

Tyler tapped the mic lightly. “You guys ready?” he said into it, a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Mark finally looked up, face red from suppressed laughter. “Whatever it is,” he muttered, distracted, “it can’t be worse than Bim’s.”

“Or Dark’s,” Amy nudged him, smiling gently.   


“Or Ethan’s,” Kathryn laughed, looking pointedly at Ethan.  


Ethan straightened his bow tie,  indignant. “Yeah? Well, what about Wilford’s?”

“Okay, okay, hush,” Tyler laughed, catching their attention again. Once the chuckling subsided, he took a breath. “Ready?” he said again, and everyone nodded. Dr. Iplier pushed his hair back, ready for a show. Something about this was ominously familiar.   


The audience in place, the pawns on stage, the [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ouGpThaAwMs) began to play. 

“Yo,” Tyler said, straight-faced.  


In the audience, Ethan snorted.

“Yo, yo, yo, let’s go!”  


Google_B tapped at the computer, and the lights overhead flashed green, pink, yellow. Oliver averted his eyes as the music started to pick up, scowling.

“I'm laid-back,” Tyler started to sing, more emotion in his voice than Mark thought was strictly necessary.

“I'm feeling this,” and Amy shot a confused glance at Kathryn, her face starting to split into a smile.

 “Tonight's the night, and I just wanna let it go.” Ethan started to stand up, and he wasn’t sure why. An impulse that was closer to a command.   


“Hit the playback,” and Kathryn was pulling Amy to her feet, giggling, Amy jumped up: cooperative.  


“I know you’re feeling this,” and Mark rose to join them, a puppet on strings.  


Tyler took the microphone off of its stand, a compulsion to dance like he never had before taking over him. “C’mon, baby, let’s get _ridiculous_.”

“As Tyler burst into song, the humans in the room started to dance. The music got louder and louder, shaking the very walls of the office, but they felt no remorse nor sympathy for the office’s other inhabitants. The Googles began to record everything, for posterity. 

“Mark tried, unsuccessfully, to twerk, knocking over several chairs and scarring several people in the process. Amy joined him, trying to lead them in a sort of waltz, awkward and embarrassing as a middle school dance.  


“Ethan danced on top of the couch until he fell over, landing squarely in Oliver’s lap. Enough compromising positions occur that ‘Crankiplier’ is now considered canon.

“Tyler sang until his voice gave out, leaving his throat scratchy and voice cracking, the object of ridicule for the next week.  


“Kathryn and Dr. Iplier, the two singly competent people in the room, sat by and watched as the others continued to embarrass themselves; the Googles recording, none of them able to stop the music.   


“The humans awake the next morning with glitter on their skin and only the vaguest recollections of the night before, but one thing stands out very clearly: the Host had requested for them to be _quiet_ \-- and had they listened, there would have been several hours worth of blackmail material that need never have existed.”  


The Host finished his line at the typewriter with a _ding_  barely audible over the rocking music from the living room. A satisfied smile, the cooperation of his characters assured. The Host snapped a pair of earmuffs over his ears, standing from his desk, and made sure that his latest story sat safely by the typewriter before shuffling off to bed. 

By the time things got ridiculous, the Host was asleep, a smile on his lips, in blissful silence. 


End file.
